As he paced silently through the tree-crowded snowscape he thought of Firsthome and his time there—a halfhearted attempt to keep his mind occupied. The mound would be before him soon enough; there was no reason to hasten his thoughts ahead.

Among the thinned tree rows and bracken near the outer edge of the great forest, Fritti heard a sound from above: the rustling of wings. He momentarily considered darting for shelter, but before he could spring from the open white space in which he was framed two black shapes dropped from the heights above. Prepared—he hoped—for whatever ill fortune had descended on him, he crouched, hackles raised.

The two dark creatures settled on a branch above with a flurry of ebony pinions. Fritti relaxed ... somewhat. It was only a pair of ravens—Krauka—one large and one small. Not the most harmless of fla-fa‘az, but not strong enough to match talons with the Folk: Still, he regarded them suspiciously as they in turn stared down at him with glittering eyes.

“Th‘art the Tailchaser?” asked the older bird in an unmusical voice.

“‘Course, Dad, there be the star on’s head, now, see?” squeaked the smaller. Tailchaser took a step backward in surprise.

“You can speak!” he breathed. “You know the Common Singing?”

With a harsh cackle of amusement the larger Krauka flapped his wings, lifting slightly off the branch. Settling down, he preened his chest feathers in a self-satisfied manner, keeping an eye on Fritti.

“There be many who bear no fur, yet speak nigh better’n cats!” The large bird chuckled again. “Those what be long-lived like we; well, they do learn. Aye, even my eldest here”—he indicated the smaller raven—“though’s got no more sense nor a tumblebug.”

“Well,” said Fritti after a moment’s consideration, “I suppose I should by rights be beyond surprise by now. How do you know my name?”

“Those what gossip with squirrels should not wonder that the trees know all they secrets. There be little adrift in this forest what doesn’t blow past the ear of old Skoggi, which is me.”

“My old dad beest chief Krauka in these woods!” piped the small bird proudly.

“ ... An’ my young Krelli here has not got the brains what the Big Black Bird give to a mushroom.” Skoggi leaned over and pecked the top of his son’s head. Krelli cawed piteously and scuttled up the branch, out of reach of the paternal beak.

“Next time, do you think afore opening your dinner-hole!” said Skoggi. “An’ don’t be sharing our business with every marmot what gives you the time o’ day.”

Fritti was amused in spite of himself. “But you seem to know my business,” he pointed out.

“Like I said aforetimes,” chuckled the raven, “Rikchikchik is a powerful talky lot. Keep they nuts, but no secrets. It be common knowledge, like, that you come from”—he indicated with his shiny black head—“from there. The mound, as ‘twere. You be well known ’mongst those what hasn’t fled the Ratleaf—though that be proper few, now. Where be you going now, Master Tailchaser?

Although the Krauka seemed harmless, Fritti decided on caution. After a moment he said: “Oh, actually, I’m just exploring the forest. As a matter of fact, I should probably be on my way.”

“Ah, belike, belike ...” rasped Skoggi. He walked a little way down the branch, ruffling his pitchy feathers, then stopped and peered shrewdly at Fritti from the corner of a glinting eye. “Did it not be so obvious that you were a cat of great smartness, like, with a sharp eye toward preservin’ that fine, furry skin you be wearin’ ... well, were it not for this, it would seem like you were wanderin’ toward that mound, yonder.”

Fela’s Whiskers! Fritti cursed to himself—the Krauka was a clever one.

“But,” countered Tailchaser, “as you point out, why would I want to go near that terrible place again?”

“True enough. ‘Tis a turrible place, ’tis. Evil things what care not where they bite come crawlin’ up. It looks a dark and tumble place, ‘deed it do—the forest be fair empty now, the things what it harbors be so foul. ’Tis all a poor soul can do to protect his family, and put morsel or two in they sweet young beaks.” He looked over to Krelli with poorly mimed affection.

“Then, why do you stay?” asked Fritti.

“Ah, well now,” croaked Skoggi, with a sigh betokening great sorrow, “this be the only home ever we knowed. It be powerful hard to leave behind the nesting spots of nigh on thousand generation. ‘Course” —and here he laughed creakily—“it has been might easier keepin’ the little darlings fed of late. Those creaturs what lives belowground may be right bad, but leasts they leave behind what they don’t eat.” Convulsed with laughter, the raven nearly fell from the branch. Tailchaser grimaced. “Yes, now,” contin-’ ued Skoggi, still bubbling with mirth, “no matter who eats, an’ who what’s eaten, there’s always some o’ the latter what’s left behind. ‘Tis the prime advantage of being born to th’ Krauken.”

“Be we goin’ to eat Master Tailchaser, Dad?” asked Krelli with innocent curiosity. In a flash, Skoggi had fluttered up the tree limb and, with his strong beak, administered a swift and painful tattoo on his fledgling’s skull.

“Thou interrupts thy betters again, an’ I’ll nip off thy pinfeathers and toss you outen yon tree for the mound-cats to munch, ye rock-head! You can’t be eating everyone what passes by!” He turned to Tailchaser. “Now, my fine cat, ‘course we both know that you be’n’t so addle-pated as to go clambering back into this affrightening mound. So. Be that as it may, were ye going to, p‘raps I could tender a leetle advice?”

Fritti pondered for a moment, then smiled tightly up at the Krauka. “Well, since we are speaking of this silly thing, and supposing I was in need of advice, what would you want in return?”

Now it was Skoggi’s turn to show a look of cold amusement.

“You cats be‘n’t quite so foolish as ye be sung of. However, this one time, the hy-po-thitical deed which I’d be helping you with’d be reward itself—tho’, Black Bird knows, not pufferin’ likely of success. Be you interested?” Fritti nodded in acceptance. “Good, then. Well, let me tell this.

“In days not long passed, when first we saw yon dungheap rise up along our forest, were no tunnels that led out from it. The first ‘un was a small ’un, and when they dug out the biggers, this one fell out o’ use. Methinks it still be unguarded, it having been fair hidden—the mound-cats had not then what sway they do now. Here be how you may find it ...”

“Wait!” cried Fritti, and the two black fla-fa‘az stopped and hovered. “If it doesn’t matter to you who eats who, why are you helping me?”

“A fair question, Master Cat,” Skoggi called raucously. “You see, as I figure it, at the rate they be going, those mound-cats’ll have cleared the whole o’ Ratleaf by autumn-time. ‘Course, wherever they go there’ll be food for us Krauka ... but I be gettin’ right old. I prefers to fall out o’ the nest of a mornin’ and find my breakfast a-waitin’. So, if you find luck, you’ll be doin’ me a favor to brink your Folk back to the forest!”

With a harsh caw of merriment, the ravens were gone.

Roofshadow walked gingerly across the prison cave and gave the kitten a not-too-gentle prod with one of her smoke-gray paws. Pouncequick let out a murmur of displeasure, but his eyes remained closed; he did not move.

Roofshadow was worried. Pouncequick had been sleeping or lying silent almost all the time since Scratchnail had brought her to the cave. The kitten had barely acknowledged her existence, raising his head only once, some time after she had arrived, to say, “Oh. Good dancing, Roofshadow,” before lapsing back into his somnolent state. A few times since then he had replied to her insistent questions, but with little interest. In the corner of the cavern, Eatbugs sprawled like one dead.

“Pounce, please talk to me. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be left here. They’ll come back for me anytime.” She thought of Scratchnail, and fear made her fur crawl. The Clawguard chieftain had thrown her roughly into the prison pit with promises to come back and “deal with her” after he had made his report to the Lord of Vastnir. That must have been days ago, although the dragging Hours of darkness made it seem an even longer interval. He might return for her at any moment.

“Pouncequick!” She tried again. “Can’t you understand me? We’re in terrible danger!” She prodded him again. “Wake up!”

Groaning, Pouncequick rolled slightly to one side, away from her demanding paw.

“Ohhhhh, Roofshadow, why don’t you leave me alone? It’s lovely here, and I don’t want to ...” He lapsed into silence for a moment, his beatific expression twisting into a frown. “And ... and ... I don’t want to be where I was before,” he finished sadly.

Roofshadow was exasperated, and becoming a little panicky.

“What do you mean? You’re dreaming, Pounce.”

The youngling shook his head, the placid look returning to his face. “No, Roofshadow, you don’t understand. I’m with the white cat. Everything is very peaceful. I’m learning things. Please, don’t be angry with me. I wish you could see, Roofshadow!” he said fiercely, eyes still tight-shut. “The light ... and the singing ...”

Pouncequick fell silent again, and all the fela’s efforts could not make him speak more.

With only the faintest waver of his newfound resolution, he stepped inside. Above the white forest the sun stood in the Hour of Smaller Shadows.

This tunnel was considerably drier than most of the others that he had walked within the mound. Its air of disuse reassured him, and he made good time, padding boldly down into the depths. The glowing earth shone only fitfully here, but it was enough.

Soon he began to pass cross tunnels, and from some of these wafted hot, moist air. He was approaching the active byways of Vastnir. He knew he would have to be more cautious.

Since the sound was so low-pitched, so subtle, at first he did not notice that the silence of his abandoned spur tunnel had been breached. The subliminal pulse of the mound had been so familiar to him during his long imprisonment that he scarcely noted its resumption. When it finally impinged on his conscious thoughts, he realized that this time it seemed subtly different. That bothered him, and he could not say why. Then he understood.

The noise was growing gradually louder, as if he were approaching the source. Every footfall seemed to be bringing him nearer to the agent of the dull, almost inaudible throbbing. When he had been a captive in the mound it had always sounded the same: remote, yet omnipresent, as if all of Vastnir had been producing a low, rumbling drone.

Now, the sound had begun to take on distinction—booming and hissing, definitely louder; growing more so with every step Fritti took. As he rounded a bend, the shaft sloped steeply down, and a miasma of hot, wet air rolled up out of the darkness at the end of the tunnel. Tailchaser reared back, combing frantically at his face with a forepaw to clear his eyes of the clinging murk.

Still determined, despite a fluttery feeling in his middle, Fritti slit his eyes against the billowing vapors and moved forward. As he legged cautiously down the incline he passed beneath a door or opening of some kind, for suddenly the throbbing became an echoing roar, rattling and reverberating from the walls of a huge cavern that he could not see for the mist-clouds that surrounded him.

Like Grumbleroar Falls, he thought.

His fur was rapidly becoming sodden. He understood that he had stumbled upon some vast underground cataract.

The strange subterranean breezes shifted direction and the vapors swirled away. In the half-light of the glowing soil he could see the giant cavern above which he crouched, insectlike, on one of the shallow ledges that ringed the walls. Below, red-lit and foaming, surged an immense flood of water. The cavern had no floor, only the gigantic, steaming river which passed endlessly through from one side to the other, filling the great domed cave with fogs and chaotic noise.

Tailchaser felt the heat of the burning river beat up into his face as he peered cautiously over the ledge. The pounding force of the water as it crashed against the cavern walls and disappeared into the rock beneath him made Fritti feel suddenly dizzy, disoriented by the magnitude of the spectacle. As the river boomed its way down into the darkness beneath him, flaring comets of spray jetted up, to hang finally motionless far above his head, then plummet back to their source. Fritti backed away from the edge and huddled for a while near the tunnel mouth.

Finally, the tumult began to sicken him. He pushed forward. Around the cavern, near the opposite side, he could see several tunnels, coal-black against the shadowed, crimson-brushed rock. Keeping tightly to the cavern wall he headed toward these, walking carefully along the high, clinging path above the surging river.

It was slow going. From time to time, the wind would mysteriously change and the swirling mists would descend, forcing him to stop and cling in place until he could see his way again. Inching his way around the perimeter of the monstrous chamber, he kept his eye firmly fixed to the trail before him. Occasionally he would see movement in the corner of his vision, but upon looking up find only leaping spray. Once he thought he saw two tiny figures scuttling along one of the pathways criss crossing the far wall, but as he squinted into the gloom the mists heaved up again. When they had receded, all seemed as it had been.

After an eternity of tortuous progress, he gained the far wall. Picking his way up the steep path, he reached the holes, farther above the roar and crash of the boiling river. The first tunnel that he reached itself fumed and steamed and he hurried past, but the next opening carried a welcome hint of cooler air. Once he was inside the temperature dropped rapidly. Pleased at this good sign, Fritti put distance between himself and the great cavern.

With several tunnel bends behind him, the sound of the river had decreased to its earlier muted throbbing. He flopped to the floor of the shaft, glorying for a moment in the relative stillness and cool. After a few breaths he applied his tongue to his soggy, matted coat.

“You there!” The voice slashed through the shadowy tunnel. Fritti leaped to his feet, his heart pounding louder in his own ears than the raging water.

“Sssstay!” hissed the voice. “Sssstay and have wordsss with Sskinwretch of the Toothguard!”